


Fate

by Frumpologist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Divination, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 12:37:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13811322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frumpologist/pseuds/Frumpologist
Summary: Neville’s friends send him to see a fortune teller so that he might discover his true love.





	Fate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thewaterfalcon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewaterfalcon/gifts).



> This is written for thewaterfalcon for Love Fest 2018 on Fairest of the Rare FB group. I hope you like it, darling!

This is the dumbest thing Neville has done in a long time. But, Dean told Parvati who told Lavender, who told Ron that the new Tea & Fortune Shoppe successfully predicted several romances in the prior year. Word got back to Neville and he was damn near shoved down the Hogsmeade High Street toward the shop simply because everyone is uncomfortable that Neville doesn’t particularly care to date. It isn’t like Neville doesn’t want to date. It’s more like he can’t find anyone who keeps him distracted enough from herbology. And he’s a very successful herbologist because of it, thank you very much.

So he clambers through the village with a form fitting grey cloak around his body and trusty old Gryffindor scarf around his neck. And when he gets to the shop with tacky vines covering the wall and signs that promise to predict his future, Neville inhales sharply through his nose, closes his eyes, and pushes his way through the door. He jumps at the loud chime overhead and almost knocks over a glowing glass orb. He’s already anxious to leave, feet turned toward the door once again to make a dash outside and to Zonko’s where he knows it’s safe.

“Professor Longbottom.”

The certainty in her slight accented voice stirs something akin to nervousness in his stomach. A breath leaves him, followed quickly by another. His name feels important leaving her lips and he doesn’t like it. Not at all.

His hand massages just below the wisps of hair at the nape of his neck and he offers the disembodied voice a tentative, lopsided smile.

“Er… hello?” When no one responds, he takes a short step forward into the room and tries again. “I’m Neville Longbottom.”

“Yes, we know who you are,” the feminine voice says directly behind him.

Neville jumps again. “Bloody-“

She’s smiling at him, but it’s not pleasant at all. It’s almost ethereal. Creepy. “We’ve been expecting you. Though, you’ve taken a long time to decide to come to us.”

Creepy actually doesn’t cut it. It’s just bloody weird is what it is.

A hand gently takes his elbow and steers him to a small table where he’s forced into a seat. There’s a smoky blue orb in front of him with swirling liquid inside. Even that’s unsettling. The last time he looked into a crystal ball, he saw the grim. Or a bear, which Professor Trelawney said meant he’d be mauled by a mother figure. Neville avoided Gran for a month after that.

“So, er, am I supposed to look for a figure, or-“

“Your soulmate, the person you are fated to love, will not be found. She will come to you clearly, no searching necessary.”

The woman sits across from him with a small smile on her lips. Neville swallows a thick lump. His mouth is suddenly dry. He lets his eyes linger on her for only another second and then he glances down at the blue orb. Nothing happens. Of course not. It’s a bunch of hokey divination, not some sort of fact-based magic like Charms or Herbology.

“We require something of value.”

Right. Because finding his one true love is going to cost him how many galleons? He reaches into his pocket to grab a few round coins.

“Money has no value here.”

He exhales a laugh through his nose. Of course. He’ll probably have to give a lock of hair or some saliva or a fingernail.

“We want a memory. A taste of your mind so that we may channel your soul.” Her smile is wider now. Almost knowing some deep, dark secret he harbors.

Except he doesn’t keep secrets. Not anymore. And so he draws his wand and pulls a memory from school. A quiet memory. A thing he doesn’t recall often but finds comfort in when he does. He’s sixteen and he’s standing next to a suit of armor with a potted plant in one hand and his wand in another. He feels whole when he remembers that day. When he remembers how the pieces of his awkwardness clicked into place and decided who he was; Neville Longbottom, wizard, future herbologist.

The silver wisp of memory leaves his wand and swirled inside the blue orb. And there she is without another word spoken. Dark hair. Dark eyes. High cheekbones. Heart lips and wholesome nose.

He pushes himself away from the table and then he can’t help it, but Neville begins to laugh. A nervous and disbelieving laugh. The woman doesn’t say a word nor does she look offended, but she watches him closely with a sparkle in her eye.

“I believe I’ve wasted your time,” he tells her through lifted lips. Truly, madly amused. “No one’s seen Pansy Parkinson for years. She’s not meant for me.”

The fortune teller lowers her lashes and gives a small nod, same beguiling smile lingering on her lips. He makes his leave then and before the door chimes over his head the woman’s voice whispers to him.

“Your father said the same of your mother once.”

And that is all he can take. He exits swiftly and plants his back against the cement wall with heavy breaths. He doesn’t like talking about his mum and dad and he doesn’t like this stranger presuming that his parents weren’t in love the very second they laid eyes on each other. This was stupid. A ruddy dumb idea. Neville pushes from the wall and stares at the castle looming in the distance. He’ll need a drink before facing those halls again. A beverage for his nerves.

Pansy Parkinson. He rolls his eyes.

He turns a corner and just outside of an empty shop he nearly collided with a petite body. He’s not looking at her face until she clears her throat and it’s a noise he remembers clearly. Impatient. Proud.

He’s short on breath and on thought and he tries to smile an apology but it’s lopsided and doesn’t quite reach his eyes. She’s stunning. Still young in the eyes but grown up and glamorous in a way that mocks him for being so simple. His mind is clearly playing tricks on him, he thinks. She isn’t pug faced or snooty. She’s exquisite and lovely.

“Longbottom.” She sounds amused. Her lips raise along with her shaped eyebrows.

“Er, Parkinson.” He massages that same spot on his neck and it’s hot against the palm of his hand.

“Care for a drink?” She pulls her cloak tighter around her frame and juts her chin toward The Hog’s Head.

Neville glances over his shoulder at the Tea & Fortune Shoppe. There’s no light on inside, seemingly closed. A shiver passes through him and he casts a sideways look at Parkinson again, wondering if this is an elaborate hoax. But she’s just waiting for him to make a decision, increasingly impatient she sighs and snuggles into her cloak even further.

He holds out his arm to her and nods. They stare at each other for only a long moment and then they walk side by side to the battered tavern. He smiles down at Pansy as he holds open the door and ushers her inside ahead of him.

“Do you believe in fate,” he asks her, a Gryffindor’s bravery edging the lighthearted question as he pulls out her chair.

She shakes her head and wrinkles her nose.

“Me neither,” he says before turning to order their drinks.

 

 


End file.
